Suledin
by FroggyFeet
Summary: Endure. It was one of the only things he remembers his mother telling him. Endure. He guessed she meant silently, like normal people do. Too bad Darian was anything but normal. M!Surana
1. Melava Inan Enansal

**AN: Well. I really shouldn't have started this. But I did. Brontide started it off, I swear. This is looking to be a two novelette kinda thing, Similar to Yarn it will (eventually) have a sequel. Cause I want to write happy!Anders. Yes. Darian is my first Origins character, and the only one I actually got to Awakenings with. But yeah. Won't say pairings, because being honest, it could go any way with Darian. The amount of accidental romances I managed to trap him in, by the end it was just everyone sat around an awkward campfire. It's probably obvious anyway. But just in case! It might (probably (definitely?)) end up M/M, so be careful if you aren't in that party-boat! Probably nothing explicit, and if there is, I'll always give the heads up first so you can skip if hot-dogs aren't your thing. Happy Reading!**

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**The Dealing with Surana Rule Book, A Collection By Team Warden**

**Rule One: If you have an opinion, be prepared to be shot down, laughed at, and ultimately ignored.**

It was an old truth, older than even the teachings that the Master Crows handed down from their own masters. Never judge a wine by its bottle. Never judge a blade by its scabbard. Never judge a mage by his dress. It was something that Zevran lived by, a truth in a world of lies. Something to cling to when he doubted his work, his blades, his livelihood. He even doubted the Warden in the beginning. Join me. It was another man trying to buy him. I'll free you, but only to put you on a leash. It was something that he used to loathe, but he stayed. Because somehow, he never felt a collar around his throat, like he had with the Crows. Darian had never collared him, broken him and made him into another sword against the blight. The Warden kept him to his oath, but it never felt anything like his oath to his guild.

It felt like a chance.

A chance to start again, put a newly-booted foot forwards, into the life he had never dared to dream up for himself. People like him didn't get second chances. They got thrown out of windows, broke necks by accident after some steamy sex in a carriage. They got their comrades killed. They slaughtered their lovers in fits of arrogance and pride. Darian never looked at him differently, even knowing all he did. He looked at him the same way he did at Morigan, Lelianna or Alistair. He never slammed down the mallet, announcing a lifetime in jail for all mistakes and all wrongdoings.

A year ago, Zevran would have jumped at the chance of being free of his oath.

Funny how Fate liked to kick him in the balls every once in a while.

Cauthrien's blade was jolted aside, stopping the kill-blow mid-swing. The dead thing clawed at her, dragging her to the grey stones beneath them, howling and scratching. The archers hesitated, and that was enough. Morrigan was a burst of hornets in an instant, already out of the window. Leliana spared a glance before cupping a hand to her wounded stomach and pulling her own disappearing act. Zevran had guessed his warden was already unconscious, but the cheeky thing was glowing with the residual magic of a lifeguard, hands spread and eyes dark. "Zevran, upon the oath which binds you to me, I order you to run."

What?

"Run now, and do what you're best at. Kill the fuckers later."

There was a smirk there somewhere, but Darian was already slipping away, leaving the Warden in his place. The Warden was different from the red-head that had managed to worm his way into Zevran's waking thoughts; he was what had gotten them this far. He wasn't the bubbling pot of "let's save the kittens" and "let's get a giant spider as a pet" and "who put all these elfroots in a locked box?" in this moment. He was Warden Surana, battlemage Surana, the Monster of Kinloch Hold Surana.

Zevran never thought he would hate the boy's irrational mind more when a well-placed repulsion glyph sent him flying out the window and into the moat beneath.

xxx

It all started one sunny day, nearly a year ago now.

Zevran was nearly blinded when he was turned over, the sunlight harsh to his eyes. He was barely awake, he knew that. He definitely couldn't fight anymore. That cheeky little fucker had hit him hard in the head with some kind of spell that knocked him clean out. The others were dead, scattered all around like ugly flowers. Heh. Nobody told him you got poetic before you died. Usually it was the 'life flashes before thy eyes' shtick. Within a few moments, maybe even an eternity, the boy was there, shadow giving Zevran a short reprieve from the sunlight.

It was a long conversation, most of which the Crow couldn't remember. But there was something that stuck with him, even to the point where he wondered if Darian always had that uncanny ability to read him like an old tome. The boy had crouched by him, near the end of the interrogation, after Alistair had thrown in all sorts of objections, and Morrigan had basically berated all notions of recruiting an assassin.

It was his eyes that did it.

They were scary, at first. Bright blue, and piercing. Hard, cutting in, weighing the contents. But they were better, after that. They didn't soften, but they did grow. They turned curious, then became shuttered, and simply looked. Zevran almost got whiplash when the boy stood up suddenly.

"He's coming with us."

"WHAT?!"

xxx

The first few days were hilarious, by anyone's standards. "Team Warden" only consisted of two baby-wardens, a Qunari, a bard, a witch and a dog. Nearly all of them looked at him as if he was an asp in their chicken coop, except the crazy elven mage. The same one that had collared him. They all expected a knife in the back, a poison in their tea. But he wasn't stupid. He kept a few men on the very edges of the trees, told them to keep low. He knew they didn't get involved in the fight; none of them were stupid enough to jump into a massacre like that. It was also likely they knew he was alive, that he had been recruited. They were probably on the way back to Antiva right now, or at least finding the closest Master. He was probably already on the kill list. Slicing up the wardens now would be stupid. He was a dead man if he went back. At least here, he was alive.

At least here-

"Tell me a story."

"A story? Warden?"

"Yes, a story. You're an assassin right? You must have had a lot of adventures."

Zevran almost laughed. Darian was a kid, barely an adult. Asking for bedtime stories. One of the milder ones couldn't hurt. Any of the other ones, well they could wait until the rest of the camp stopped glaring at the back of his head.

"Well. There was this one time…"

xxx

"Uh, do you think that perhaps there are magical beasts swimming in the lake, guarding their magic tower?"

"If only the place was that interesting, Zevran."

The elf fell in behind Leliana and Alistair, already following Surana through the double doors. The dog was pattering along at his heels, nipping here and there. He never really expected much from a prison on principle, but the place was darker inside than he would have preffered. Only a few torches were still lit, barely illuminating the rather small entrance chamber. The Templars were either lying dead, groaning in injury or running around like headless chickens. Only one, growling to a shaking underling it seemed, was still.

Zevran expected the Warden to offer assistance; this place was a kind of home to the boy.

But the Warden was a walking contradiction.

A wildcard that could always be relied on to do something completely insane and unpredictable. It was his first step into the Tower that cemented that belief in Zevran, as he watched the other elf practically skip into a place that had kept in imprisoned for the better part of ten years. "Why Gregoir, isn't this a surprise? Mages raising hell again. Almost brings a tear to the eye."

The knight-commander turned, eyes not bothering with hiding the contempt broiling under the surface. "And here I had dared to hope the darkspawn had eaten you, Surana."

The elf made a show of looking the greying human over, before nearly making even Alistair take a step back in shock. "Oh, Knight Commander. My apologies, I have grown a habit of talking aloud to my dog. I found him in the woods. Isn't he a beast!" the mabari trotted over from the door, rubbing a huge head against a robed knee. "He just loves adventures."

"You named your dog after me…?"

"Yes. Loyal, understanding. Brave. Brave enough to shut the doors on a tower full of men in dresses. Brave enough to leave his men to die at the hands of the abominations he swore to slay, on pain of death," the Warden stepped forwards, "Sound familiar?"

"I see Carroll has filled you in on the state of Kinloch Hold." The older man frowned. "Freeing a Blood mage into the open pastures; free and able to poison a notable Arl and cause a rift in the veil large enough to allow an entire battalion of dead to torture and haunt an entire arling. Sound familiar?"

Darian smiled, "And during the seven years he spent under the watchful eye of the Templar Order, he was only recently tagged as a real danger. I am but a poor, naïve mage, ser. My only punishable offence was having faith in the Makers children. But alas, I have not the time to exchange pleasantries with an old friend. I have a Circle to rescue."

"Making jabs at my age was a new one. Usually you are more tactful than that."

The elf shrugged, "It's been a long day. Gregoir. Point the way and I'll clean up this mess for you. Consider it an apology in Jowans stead. You know how jittery the robes can be."

"Indeed. If you truly wish to save the Circle, then you will destroy everything from here to the Harrowing Chamber."

The silent glare the elf returned spoke volumes. "They are people, you know. I'm sure that a few mages have survived the demons, Commander."

Gregoir frowned even more, "From what Intel we have managed to gather, Blood mages have summoned the demons. Whatever is beyond that door is either too far gone or dead already. We were waiting for the Chantry of Denerim to approve the Right of Annulment."

"So when all else fails, kill it with fire? Where is all your faith, Chantry-Boy?"

"This is not a matter of faith. It's a matter of duty. The mages are either dead or soon will be. Annulment is the only answer."

"Not really. I'll send back any mages I find alive and kill the rest. I'll even note down a few pointers, so you can do your job the right way next time."

"And the ignorance of your youth shines through again, Surana. Very well. If you get back before the messenger then the right of Annulment will be unnecessary. But I will only take Irving's word on the matter. If he doesn't return, then we will have to-"

"Done."

xxx

"One of the older Templars came to get me. Old fart he was, almost crazy with all the lyrium he had taken over the years. He sang while we walked, stupid old songs that made the kids laugh. When one of the other Templars called him on it, he just replied, 'I'd sing for you, but we both know you don't appreciate anything that makes others smile.'" Darian shook his head, "the old fart was killed on the job a few years later by a blood thrall. Singing all the while. Some of the others were nice, but no Templar looked at a mage the same way after that. Relations got better for a little while, after the mages held a wake for him. Only Templar to ever get that, I tell you. He had brought hundreds of mage children to the tower, and many had actually considered him a fatherly figure. Whenever one of the nastier ones hit us or tried to… well. He had his own little posse. He never let anything like that happen. He was always vigilant. Funny, he spent more time stamping out depraved fellows than actually culling mages."

The mage himself frowned, "It wasn't until after that did everything get squiffy. Mages became more distant, the Templar recruits were brought up under Templars without any restrictions. The same way a blood mage can go on under the radar, a cruel man or woman can thrive under Templar doctrine. All you gotta do is hide under the right banner. Use the right rules, twist the right arm. I've never met a Templar that I would rather have at my side, in case I did turn."

"Aw shucks, Darian. You always know the right things to say."

The red-head looked to Alistair and laughed, "You might have learnt the words, Ali, but you aren't a Templar. You're a Warden. Remember?"

"I can't imagine someone able to cull you, Surana," Morrigan growled from the edges of their makeshift camp. She was barely visible in the firelight, sharp line of her back a pale streak in the dark. "You'd set them on fire, as per the regular dog and pony show."

Darian let out a low snort, "I was an apprentice, but no. Most of them kept a wary distance from me. They had the strangest idea that I had been behind a misfortunate tumble one of the nastier ones took out of a window. As if they would let an apprentice into the Templar training area. Funny rumours like that always circulate the tower. Ever heard of The Werecat of the Circle? Apparently one of the cats in the Tower had been possessed and attacked several Templars before it got put down."

Wynne lifted her head from her book, "Mr Wiggums? God that was around when I was still teaching Primal magic. Like three, four years ago? And as for that 'accident,' well. Lets just say it took a lot for Irving to keep Gregoir from isolating you like he did Anders."

"As if he would do that. He wouldn't be able to see my lovely mug every day."

"Anders?" Zevran pressed, eyes flickering between the two.

"A crazy guy, but always a good laugh. He got put into seclusion after the millionth time he tried to escape the tower. Tried to swim across LakeCalenhad. A part of me wishes he didn't get caught. You'd think they'd have applauded and just let him go after all the harebrained schemes he came up with."

"Like what? Making a parachute out of goat hair and beeswax?"

"No, the first one he dressed up like a Templar and nearly walked out. If the door guards hadn't spotted how out of breath he was, he might've actually pulled it off. The second time was the parachute."

"This is why on Par Vollen we sew our mages' mouths shut and cut out their tongues."

"And that is why I am the boss and you are not. Imagine how hard it would be for me to talk us out of the shitheap with my tongue cut out?"

"It might stop you from walking us into the shitheap."

"Ha-ha. This is why I let you stay, Sten. Your humour is as always, impeccable."

"As if such a tiny thing like you could live without me, Kadan. You are like a bird. Or that slovenly child by the road, stuffing its face with -what did you call them?- Cookies?"

"Short, stumpy and torturing you with baked goods?"

"Ever wonder why I allowed the other mage her knitting needles? They are much better at silencing a loud Sarebas. Unfortunately also lot messier."

"And here I thought _Wynne_ was giving _you_ knitting lessons. Looks like you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks!"

"Morrigan did teach me a new spell, Warden. She said that it would painfully turn something inside out. This old dog could show you, if you persist as such."

"Hey now, Alistair called you old first. I'm just an impressionable young mage, poor little flower that I am."

"Hey! Don't drag me into your mess! What have I ever done to you?"

"Goldana."

"I knew that'd bite me in the ass."


	2. Ir su araval tu elvaral

AN: Good luck. It's long. [Insert compulsory 'Just the way we like it' joke here]

Sleep deprivation is a despicable thing.

I hope you enjoy the chapter guys!

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**Rule Two: Surana doesn't care who you are. He won't share his sweets with you. No matter how much you cry.**

They had all learnt the hard way that Darian was a maniac. It was also, in a weird way, a bit of a mystery how the little Warden had managed to coral them all into calling him Darian, too. But mysteries were seemingly the elf's thing, it seemed. A mystery how he had managed to not get shot by a Dalish archer, being the most astounding to date. Especially with how haughty he was with the elf at the head of their welcoming party. It was a funny thing to see, considering that it was only the snickering followers that trotted on behind the Warden that knew how much of an ass he was actually being. The Dalish woman seemed to catch wind of the mage's thinly veiled mockery, but she did not call him on it. The underhand grumble of "flat-ears," wasn't missed, however.

"And here I thought that the Dalish were brave enough to voice their opinions. Maybe I was mistaken."

The woman turned on the other elf, eyes ablaze, "My opinion would surely leave such a waste of an elf in a ditch somewhere, Warden. Remember that your honeyed words and foul disposition is not welcome among the people. Speak with Zathrian, and leave. Before you get the same treatment the shem do."

"A boot up the ass and a hearty mug of poisoned beer?"

Mithra snarled, "as if we would waste poison on a flat-ear."

"Well that's good. Because if by chance it didn't kill me," the elf stepped forwards, eyes darkening with that familiar mania, "you wouldn't spend long wishing that it had."

"Warden, any particular reason you trade such barbed words with my hunters?" Zathrian himself wandered out from between the trees, eyes sharp shards in his face. "You would think, since you need our aid for the Blight that you would be kinder."

The red-head laughed, "If I were being at all nasty, you'd be dead and your aravels already on fire. This is me being neutral. I'm surprised your hunters didn't peg me out as the same elf they turned away from shelter near on five years ago."

Recognition dawned on several faces, before he spoke again. "It's kind of hard for a man to play nice with his kin when they rejected him because of where his mother popped him out. I spent the next weeks after that being punished for running away from the Tower. Funny, I thought of it more as a holiday after the reception the People gave me. Justice for elves, indeed. Just the right ones, am I right?"

Zathrian bit back a retort, instead replying with a simple, "Tradition is to be adhered to. Your forefathers revoked any kinship with the Dalish the moment they walked away from us."

"As per usual, the child is meant to bear the sins of their sires. Whatever. Just tell me what the hell is stopping you from helping the fight against the Blight."

"Werewolves."

Darian practically jumped into the air, "You guys have been fighting _werewolves_? Like in the legends! And I thought all you were good for was spite and 'let's set all the shem on fire!'" The mage strode forwards, "Zathrian, consider all old wounds closed and forgotten. Point me in the right direction, and I'll get the job done. This is with the assumption I get to keep one as a pet, yes?"

xxx

It wasn't until Darian forced them to drag back the half-dead elf that things got any warmer between the Warden and the Dalish. He was screaming, yelling for help, and in the instant that Mithra's face turned from spiteful to shocked upon seeing Deygan, Zevran knew that things were looking up.

"I've stemmed the bleeding and pushed out all the dirt. He should be fine. You said that the curse had a five hour incubation period, right? Well, he seems to be past that now, so by my reckoning he's clean. All he needs is some good old fashioned sleep and a mug of ale should do the trick."

"Why did you save him?"

"What?"

The almost funny scenario of watching the two elves stare stupidly at each other nearly cracked Alistair, muffling a shocked laugh in his gauntlet. It was already a known fact that Surana spent irrational amounts of time protecting the weak and saving the children. It wasn't much of a stretch to patch up a Dalish hunter and bring him home.

"I wasn't about to leave him to die in the woods. He has a family, friends, people who care for him in the camp. If I had, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself after."

"But he is Dalish, and you have not been silent on your… distaste for the People."

"Pfft as if I care. He could have been a nine foot tall Qunari and I would have done the same. Everyone gets the same treatment with me. People who attack first, well they get the backhand. People who need help? They get help. Race, dress sense and religious affiliations are all just anecdotes. I like to judge people on who they are, not what they are. You guys might make more friends if you did the same. Similarly, I was a bit of a bitch when I met you. You hunters are an alright bunch. Gave those dogs a what-for, I tell you."

Mithra gave a half-smile, "And if you were half the dolt you present yourself to be, the forest would have eaten you alive already. To see that it hasn't shows that you aren't half bad either, Warden. Happy hunting."

"Hm. You didn't know the Werewolves talk, did you?"

"Talk? They are beasts. Nothing more."

"Hm. Well better get him into the medic's hands. Happy Hunting, Mithra."

They were barely into the trees when Morrigan's low voice interrupted the quiet ambience of the forest. "Their Keeper has been very… selective with the truth, it seems."

The other mage seemed to frown, "It does. Hopefully it won't get us into a deeper ditch than he has already thrown us into. If what that Swiftrunner said is true, then we'll have a bloodbath on our hands either way. I don't like the idea of killing sapient beasts on the order of some elf who won't tell me why they are sapient. You know he has his fingers in that, and the curse."

"Alas, if he had only been honest from the get-go."

"As you were with the 'master lock-picker' gag?"

"That was just a little icing on the cake of truth. As you did with the whole 'lightning bolts from his eyes' and 'ten feet tall' story, no? We both know that'll come back and haunt you, as does all the fun things, Darian."

"Hey now. They already talk about the 'painted assassin' and the 'warhound that will eat your face while you're still breathing' tale. And don't even get me started on the 'silhouetted temptress who steals your soul with a gilded ukulele.' You fuckers are what started all that."

"Leliana always spins the best tales. No?"

"I always thought that Mori's 'titanic buffoon made of Orlesian Cheese' was pretty good. Even if it did make Alistair cry when that drunkard in the tavern asked him about it."

"You guys suck ass. I told her that rumour would get around, but she did it anyway."

"And you thought the worse she could do was turn you into a toad."

"If it wasn't for the 'giant hen that healed any and all ailing' in our midst, I think she just might have."

"Well yeah. You started the whole 'crazy witch-lady who lives in a stump' thing. In a way, that was worse."

"The day you meet a crazy mage in a stump, Alistair my friend, is the day that I will die laughing." Zevran smiled; all teeth. Morrigan had long since left them behind in the haze of the forest, seemingly peaceful in the gloom. Darian was barely containing the giggles, "Oh god. I can see it now. The minstrels would sing about such a battle for decades. Cheese-man versus evil stump lady."

"Dari, never become a storyteller," the human growled, before lumbering after the witch.

The assassin motioned for Darian to get closer, only to stage-whisper, "Don't worry. We'll get Leli to hammer out the details in camp."

"I heard that!"

xxx

When the half-crazed Hermit popped up in a crash of glittery smoke, astride his magical stump in the middle of the woods, Darian couldn't help but laugh.

xxx

When the elf pressed the bunch of flowers into Leliana's hands, well. Zevran didn't know what to think, really. Darian nearly got crushed by the hug the human gave him, leading to a theatrical gasping for air on the Warden's part. _Well_, the assassin shrugged, _if she gets fooled by a pretty face, then more fool her._

_Pretty face?_

xxx

It was half-way through the ruins that it happened. A group of flesh-hungry dead rose from their sarcophagi, nearly giving Wynne a heart-attack when one sprung at her from behind one of the larger doors. Alistair was quick, however, and managed to pummel the thing enough to free the old woman. He had barely dragged her onto her feet when Darian's head snapped around like a tree branch, _and took off down the corridor at full speed_. He ducked, dived and danced around the dead, the wraiths more interested in his slower companions to chase him.

It took twenty minutes of fighting, clawing and kicking to catch up, after which Zevran very nearly turned around and walked away. Instead, he stopped Alistair from moving towards the crouching elf, hunched over an altar set up between a mountain of books. The silence had to be the creepiest thing, Zevran had thought initially. Well, until whatever was in the Warden's hand started **whispering**.

He almost jumped when Darian's hand smashed the tiny thing against the altar's stone face, sending a huge maelstrom of energy upwards, which unfortunately made a cloud of dust and debris balloon _outwards_ and blind them all.

He never really explained what had happened that day.

Wynne said that he hadn't been possessed, and he hadn't made a deal with a demon. Morrigan seconded this when they returned to camp. It was soon forgotten, another anecdote amongst many.

xxx

"If I killed a group of people every time someone asked me to, the world would be empty. And besides, it would take away your chance to undo this clusterfuck of a situation you set yourself up for. If you were smart, you would have made the curse like a hex, not a flaming virus."

"And would you have done different?"

"I wouldn't have made it so the enemy could use it _on my own people_! I wouldn't have made it so that everyone who comes into contact with it becomes a ravenous beast! You know, that when it gets lifted and everyone gets their senses back, they'll have to live with savaging others. They'll have to live with the fact that they hunted people, and ate people, and _liked_ it."

"They deserve no less. They should suffer, as they made my children suffer."

"Well, they did. And now they're dead. And instead, we have a bunch of stupid shem who wandered into the woods paying the price now. It's your precious 'People' who are paying the price now. All because of what happened centuries ago. Don't get me wrong, there wouldn't be much left but dust of them if our roles were reversed, but in the end, all you are doing is hurting the people you are supposed to be protecting. Your hunters are on their deathbeds because you're caught up on your own hurt. What about Athras? His wife was taken by the same curse that you set up. What about justice for him? All he has left is a scarf and a name, Zathrian. What about Deygan? He will have to live with seeing his kin torn apart by giant flaming wolves. It's him that'll bear the nightmares now, not just you," The Warden took a step forwards, into the milky green light filtering through the ruins. "If all you do is hate and avenge, then that is all that will come back unto you. There will be more wolves, and your men will kill more wolves the same way they are killed by them. If you don't stop the cycle, you'll doom your clan as well as yourself."

"If you think that they have changed at all, you are mistaken. Men do not change."

The Warden made a loud, sharp laugh as he fell into stride alongside the Keeper, "In that ser, I humbly disagree."

xxx

"Brother! Big-bad-Ali-Bear! King of all the Cheeses! Oh Maker you aren't still angry are you?"

Wynne didn't even look up from The Orlesian Rose to ask, "What did you do now?"

Darian let his arms slump to his sides, giving her the full force of his devious pouty face. The old woman just raised an eyebrow at him. "We found a crazy old man in the forest who lived in a stump. And Morrigan zapped him for it. So apparently I'm in the doghouse."

"Did you apologise?"

"Morri is the-"

"Did. You. Apologise?"

"No."

"Well then."

It was only when the Warden was gone to find Alistair did Sten pipe up, eyebrows drawn. "Perhaps we put you at spearhead when fighting the Archdemon. It seems that you fend well against other such demons, mage."

"It comes with age, O Grand 'Cupcake Fairy.'"

"When I learn of the one capable of calling a Sten of the Beresad such a ridiculous name, I will as Surana says, 'Raise this shit-sty to the ground.'"

xxx

"Well."

"Well indeed, Dari."

Morrigan fell into step beside the Warden, Wynne and Zevran at their heels. Alistair had already pushed further forwards, leading the way through the chill twilight. The dwarves were not know to be overly hospitable, but the shorter of the two elves was adamant that if he could get Sarel to have tea with him and not cause a riot, then the dwarves would be easy. It had taken a while to get Surana to adhere to the fact that a Dalish riot would _not_ mean that the plants would rip their roots from the ground and take up arms in defence of the Elvhen. It was a battle narrowly won, and Zevran prided himself in being the one to talk the crazy elf down. It seemed that the Tower had nurtured a fantastic imagination within the boy. Apparently watching daisies walk with tiny wooden twig-swords and walnut shields was a deeply rooted dream within Darians mind. Zevran forgave himself the pun.

It would be almost funny to see how the more unpredictable of the two Wardens would react to the deeply political climate of Orzammar. The bet he had with Leliana would set him up for a good few rounds of Diamondback in the local taverns. Hopefully, he might find a nice-

"King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger."

It was funny, how that the united "uh-oh" could be heard amongst the three of them. It seemed that a similar, sadistic smirk had also infected the three of them, Wynne just sighing deeply. The assassin noted that this was the first time he had seen Morrigan and Alistair agree. Painful death, it seemed was on the cards.

"Usually if you're asking for help, a mite of humility is considered appropriate rather than blatant disregard for an entire culture's hierarchal system."

"On the off chance I would take advice from a dirty knife-ears, then-"

"That's _Warden-_Dirty-Knife-Ears to you, shem. Now if you don't mind, I have papers older than you _and_ your milk-drinking father in my hand."

"Warden," the dwarf guardsman nodded once, ignoring the shocked, seething silence from the messenger. He handed the documents back, before with a tight sigh, "You may enter. For all the good it will do you."

"You will let a traitor into the Assembly! How–"

A sword came flying, and it was all Alistair could do to not crush the attacking man against the wall of the entryway. An ear-splitting crack resounded as Morrigan sent the messenger flailing, almost crushing a part of his head with the force. It wasn't until the mercenary mage, partially hidden behind the two warriors, set up a rather nasty repulsion glyph, did anyone pay attention. And when he set off another, paralysing the entire clustered group with a sudden burst of rupturing seals, well. It almost sent Darian into a rage.

That is, if he hadn't seen it as a challenge instead.

"Imrek!" The enemy mage growled, dispelling the effect on the messenger with a flick of the wrist and a sudden poof of magic. Alistair pressed a hand to Darian's shoulder, similarly dispelling the effect. Morrigan was already wriggling free of the paralysis, lightning already flickering around her staff-wielding arm. As the two men retreated down the steps, leaving their newly crushed comrade behind, the Warden had already leapt forwards, slapping a hand against Zevran's chest as he went, bringing life back into frozen limbs. As they rounded the staircase, ready to alight upon their poor prey, they noticed that two had multiplied into at least twenty of Loghain's men.

"Well Maker knows; I do love it when things get interesting."

The murmur was barely heard, but Alistair laughed, short and savage. "Well looks like the Maker is smiling on you today, Darian."

"Ladies, if you please," the elf didn't even turn to the newly freed Wynne and Morrigan, but the smile was etched into every word. "Time to give our disillusioned friends a show."

It was a bloodied circus of a show.

Even Carnivale had limits.

But for some crazy reason, Zevran found himself working on autopilot, not really feeling his blades tear flesh. He was watching the dancing form of Surana, the cracking staff and flashing of magic. The crazy elf was probably a few years younger, but nowhere near as worldly. But even so, after a couple of months, he was already fighting like a veteran. All calculated magical rebuffs, all meant to either debilitate or full on kill enemies. He was always reassessing, even when he was in the middle of a flashy overhead twirl. Zevran had guessed the strips of fabric tied to the end of the Warden's staff were there to distract the eye, and he guessed right after a few more moments watching. The Warden was adept at magic, in most all forms of the word. It was almost surprising how good the kid was at subtlety, the slight of hand and even the ridiculous show he put on during battle. All of it was to keep up the distraction, keep the eyes somewhere else while he made the kill shot.

All the smiles, and all the words.

Always, luring out the unwary to trap them.

Zevran would know. He was taught the same thing.

What he never understood was where the angle in recruiting him was.

They already had a rogue, Lelianna. They didn't need another lockpicker, which was abundantly clear. They didn't really need another set of blades, not with the gargantuan Sten and the Templar Alistair. They had most things covered, where strength was concerned. Zevran would have put it down to just another crazy joke that he just didn't see the punch line to yet, but even that didn't feel right. Seeing the kid wander through camp, yelling things such as 'Present Time!' and 'Story Time' and 'Lets get the ale out and Party Time!' wasn't something that could be chalked down to just another part of the act. Because in all honesty, he didn't believe that Surana had the attention span to keep up such an act.

The guy was just crazy, pure and simple.

xxx

Darian wasn't as crazy as he made out to be. Really.

He tried to settle that thought as the assassin wandered ahead of him, asking Alistair about all sorts of stupid things. Surana knew this, simply from the way the templar would shriek, yell obscenities and turn a mottled greeny-pink colour whenever Zevran's cat-grin grew bigger and a few sentences were thrown his way. Darian was too far away to hear anything but a word amongst ten, and after hearing "molten wax" and "feather-duster" in the same breath he decided he could live without knowing what they were talking about.

It was maybe two months since that ridiculous façade in the clearing and the failed ambush. Zevran seemed to have settled into their weird little group rather easily, at least in some ways. Somehow he had made Wynne refuse to talk to him, and Leliana had flatly driven a dagger into the dirt between the elf's legs after a short conversation about butter-something. The assassin had laughed, and asked how he could have offended her. Leliana hadn't replied, but the venomous glare set the tone for the rest of the evening. The only companion that didn't get offended or threaten to kill the elf was Morrigan, and she was an entirely different bucket of yams.

The witch was a few feet behind Alistair, absently twisting the buckles at her hip while she walked.

Not even Sten could make her flinch or falter. When they had their legendary arguments about semantics and witchcraft and _needles_, of all things, she held her own against the giant like nobody else he had seen. Alistair's simple humour just washed over the Qunari, where Leliana's light questions were met with sturdy walls. Zevran deflected all of the large man's own questions with all sorts of flamboyant stories and well. He just didn't give a shit when Sten got pissed off and walked away. The elf would wave goodbye, and return to whatever he was doing.

Zevran was a weird one.

Darian couldn't pin him down. A small voice in his head said, _duh, assassin_. The Antivan was basically built to be a shadow of a man, always twisting away when you looked too closely. Whereas Morrigan just shrugged and called Darian a maniac, the others were incredibly vocal at how stupid it was to keep his own assassin around. As in, the assassin contracted to kill him.

Darian wasn't crazy.

He just knew a good opportunity when he saw one.

After Jowan, well. Nobody was going to fuck him up twice, was all he had to say about the matter. After someone trips you up with their foot, well. You're more careful of feet, is all.

He hoped for Jowan's sake they never met again.

He was snapped out of his little world when a head landed squarely against his chest. Darian didn't shriek, but he guessed from the shocked and mildly terrified faces of his companions, staring dumbly at the thing was much more unsettling. He shrugged, threw it aside and waded straight through the yelling munchkins around him. "You. Diamond quarter?" the elf poked one of the guards in the breastplate, the stunned man just pointing dumbly in a vague direction before the mage nodded and swept away, companions stumbling along behind.

"I have a feeling that he's gonna get us killed," Alistair sighed.

"A Warden more scared of dirty little men living in tunnels than the Blight he's expected to thwart? Woe upon us all. Urthemiel will paint his new throne with the blood of a thousand virgins while you hide and cry-"

"Not that I don't love the way you pull each others pigtails; but he's started hitting someone. We should really get him away from the nobles before he incites a riot, no?"

"He doesn't get along with nobles well, does he?"

"Well, you cannot say he isn't refreshing. For a caged bird."

"Okay he's setting stuff on fire. Morrigan, get him to the nearest tavern. Get him a Blackberry cider and a cake of some kind. Me and Zevran will distract the nobles."

"What? Why do I have to corral that oaf?"

"Because you are terrifying, and a woman. You have a better chance of culling him into submission than us."

"Why Alistair. That might just be the smartest idea you will ever have," the witch turned to look at the assassin before continuing towards Darian. "Zevran, make sure you tell the bard when we regroup. She will ensure this startling anecdote will go down in history as our dear Alistair's first and last bright thought. Tis' just sad it is a lonely little thing."

"I really do hate you."

"My heart bleeds."

Xxx

Two days. It took two whole days for the subtlest of the group to train Surana into being perfect at the politics game. Leliana noticed it first, the fact that they had to propose the whole ordeal as a game. Otherwise, it meant a fade-fire rampage that typically ended in lots of bodies getting thrown in the lava. Darian didn't try to explain why he hated the nobles fighting each other, and didn't comment on how he would explode and threaten everything from the poor victim's family to their favourite stone-garden ornaments. It wasn't until the third day, after they had gotten caught by Vartag Gavorn that things perked up.

There was a short conversation with him, and shortly after with a snotty dwarf called Dulin, in which Darian changed from 'I fucking hate you all' to 'I'm going to _up-end all of your lives and make you noble bastards suffer_.' It all started when Dulin brought about the task they had to complete to gain an audience with Harrowmont. It was kind of sad, having to watch the little man's face drop when Surana brought out his nasty streak. Zevran tried to give the little dwarf a hint, but the man was either too stupid or too arrogant to notice.

"Harrowmont cannot even keep his own warriors from scuttling away like terrified children? This is the man you propose to rule a kingdom?"

"How dare you?! Harrowmont is-"

"Zevran kind of has a point. You just met me, and you are basically saying that his own men don't love him enough to throw down everything for him to win; that their loyalty has a limit. And yet you ask me to prove mine, when _his own men_ have none. If he really was right for the position, there wouldn't be a split like there is. Everyone would be hunkering down under his banner with sword in hand."

"So you would give an entire kingdom to a kin-slayer like Bhelen?"

"Well. That's just hearsay. And I have never met his brother, so you know. He might have been a complete-"

"Aaaand that's enough Warden for today, little bird," Leliana was quicker than any of them, slapping a hand across Darian's mouth and dragging him bodily down the street. He was waving his arms, and Alistair was surprisingly able to translate it. "He says he rejects your offer ser dwarf."

xxx

The second day was apparently 'present day' according to the smaller warden. The elf gathered things during a week and gave them all gifts at the end. Something about bonding. Zevran didn't understand. _Well_… No he didn't understand. He said as much, but Wynne had tried to hit him with the butt of her staff when he suggested the Antivan way to make lasting bonds of friendship.

Darian had given her a bottle of wine and an old tome, and that seemed to make the older woman mellow. He gave Sten a cake, of all things. The Qunari actually smiled at that, which had to be even creepier than one of the abominations in the Circle Tower. Morrigan was given a mirror. Zevran had never seen her face soften in the same way ever again after that one moment. She actually looked human in that instant, even going so far as to pat the red-head on the arm. He almost missed seeing what Darian had gotten Leliana when Alistair's puppet-warden was smooshed against his face. He barely got it out of the way in time to see the other elf hold out a nug, pale hands tucked under the wrinkled-nut-sack of a beast's armpits. She practically screamed, and there was a moment when the assassin –and much of Tapsters- was sure she would smother both nug and elf in her excitement.

He didn't expect a gift of his own.

When the mage pressed a pair of supple, butter-soft gloves into his hands, well. He almost fell of his chair. "You got me a pair of gloves? _Gloves_? What would possess you to do such a thing?"

Darian actually laughed. "They are Dalish, like your mother's gloves."

Zevran nearly threw himself off his chair. "You… remembered?"

The devil of Kinloch Hold gave him an incredulous glare, "Of course I did. Why are you so surprised?"

"Nobody has thought to give me a gift before. Not one like this, at least. Always a new dagger, or poison, or a cockring. Never anything…" Zevran shrugged, totally missing the confused and rather aghast glare Leliana sent him from across the bar.

Darian chuckled, "get used to it. It kind of comes with the whole 'friends' package. Random gifts that knock you on your ass."

"Friends?"

The red-head managed to look both indignant and embarrassed. "Yes."

"Then, you must know, my friends call me Zev."

xxx

Zevran tried to stop him.

Well, everyone tried to stop him. But alas. It was mightily fun to watch the other elf decimate the dwarven nobles participating in the Proving. It only took a single sentence to rile up the red-head. "Hmm. I hear that if the spectators don't approve of a match's outcome, they rush the field and kill the fighters."

A ferocious laugh that shouldn't have belonged to a mage rung out, leaving most of the gathering fighters speechless. "I had better put on a show then, hadn't I?"

It started slowly, as if there was nothing amiss.

Morrigan called it first. "He's up to something, isn't he?"

Sten was the only one who replied to her. "When is he not, witch?"

Darian was dressed in his usual robes. Tevinter origin, if Zevran had heard correctly. He didn't keep up with mage fashions. All he knew was that Wynne didn't like it and Morrigan found immense amusement with it. But it was the fact he had no staff that made each of them nervous. All he had was a Warden's long-sword and a tiny dagger. Morrigan actually laughed during that first match. Darian didn't even draw his blades. The dwarf roared, like a lion, and charged. The elf had always been a scary thing, as were most mages. Especially the battle-worn ones. Even Wynne could be mildly terrifying when she got going. Zevran guessed that it was because even if you stab a mage enough times, they always might change into something a bit more ugly and a bit more unstable. Not even in a good way, either.

It took three spells to disarm the first one.

Seven for the twins that came next.

And through it all, he never drew his blades. It made the crowd scream. Zevran couldn't tell if it was drunken joy or the calm before the storm. Dwarves enjoyed blood; that was true. And after Darian had set crushing prison on Myaja, well. That satisfied that. He guessed the reason why most of the dwarves were yelling expletives after that match was that the Warden healed her himself afterwards. Creepy bastard, their Warden.

It wasn't until Sister Hanashan that he actually bothered to take up arms.

He even bowed, respectfully.

It was then that the fireworks started.

The way he moved was different than when he had his staff. He looked to Leliana, who stared back at him, as confused and stunned as Zevran himself was. "Who the hell taught him that?" Alistair hissed under the howls of the proving fans. There was silence from the team, however. There was a seemingly unanimous shrug that followed; picked up absently as they stared, dumbfounded at the match.

Darian was winning.

Somehow, he wasn't dying.

The dwarven woman was twisting like a snake, all easy grace and sharp fangs, the serrated edges of her daggers gleaming in the lamp-light of the Proving Grounds. But Surana was dancing around her, like wheat in the breeze. The Warden threw back his right arm, and with a sudden twist, parried a shot to his chest. His left struck out like a shot, between her outstretched arm and her side, jabbing the tiny silver shard into the slats of her armour.

Zevran let out the breath he was holding when the two straighten up, and the Silent Sister sheathed her weapons to better stem the bleeding in her side. They bowed, and Darian won the round upon drawing first blood.

The assassin nearly punched the little fucker in the face when they met up in one of the side-chambers. Morrigan got there first.

"You are ridiculous. All this to kick Harowmont in the extremities. You do know that Bhelen will execute him when you crown the Aeducan king, do you not? Is that not enough?"

"This isn't for that, Morri. But thanks for the vote of confidence," the elf winked, settling down into one of the cushions scattered over the stone benches. Zevran tried not to notice the scoff and faint blush from the witch. It was enough that Leliana was nursing a slight thing for the mage-Warden, let alone Morrigan as well. Zevran didn't even want to think about all the strange looks that Alistair had been sending him, either. The kid was insane. They all could see; they joked about it over pints in Tapsters for the love of Andraste's smallclothes!

A pretty face.

Heh. If only his Master could see him now.

"The next match requires a partner, guys. So who wants to help me out?"

The words broke his reverie. Darian looked around the room, at each of them in turn. Leliana was first to speak. "The opposing team are rather skilled warriors. Darvianak Vollney is a multi-talented warrior of lieutenant rank, and is looking to be champion for the fifth time. It would be making his one of the longest wining streaks in the last century. It is said amongst the noble-hunters that he killed his brother in under fifteen seconds," she frowned at that, eyes hardening. "His second is just as bad. An assassin in all but name. Being honest, I think that you should be careful."

"I refuse to be involved."

Darian actually looked confused when he looked to Morrigan. The witch frowned, "I will not be involved in a battle of who has the bigger 'sword.'"

Sten grumbled, and eventually agreed in a not dissimilar way to Morrigan. Wynne opted out, simply saying that two mages against a warrior and a rogue was a cack-handed idea at best. Alistair was voted out, since he had no eye for detail, and they were going up against a known assassin and an honourless dwarf. They'd eat him for breakfast.

"I'm not so simple that I cannot fight a-"

"Alistair, they will not play fair. They will use every single dirty trick and nasty-"

"I am not a child for you to protect, Darian!"

"And yet here you are, throwing your dolly from the cot."

The silence was deafening.

Xxx

Zevran quietly berated Darian. Leliana had run off after Alistair, and left him to fight as the Warden's second. He was happy he wasn't the one having to console the other Warden, but this was insane. The other Warden was like a solitary rain cloud on a sunny day, all smiles and jokes forgotten. Only a stoic, hard little man remained, stood astride Zevran in the corridor leading to the Proving arena. "He doesn't trust me."

The assassin nearly fell over with the sudden remark.

"My Warden?"

"He thinks that I would take him out of a battle just to keep him from harm. That I don't use logic or plan things beforehand. That I'd let personal ideals distract me from the bigger picture." The other elf sighed, grinding the heels of his palms into his face. "He doesn't trust my judgement."

"He is just emotional right now. It's been at least a week without sunshine, no? It's his first time in a place like this, no? I am sure that he wouldn't follow you like a pup if he didn't trust you, Darian."

The other elf snorted, "and I am to believe that you can charm a kossith into bed with just a look? You couldn't persuade a dove to fly, Zev."

Zevran actually laughed at that. "I do not know about kossith, my Warden."

The mage gave him a sceptical look in return. "I don't know. I've seen Sten give you a few appraising looks over the last few months."

"You'd have to be looking yourself to catch that, Darian."

There wasn't time to reply. The blood-spattered grille separating the corridor from the arena shuddered upwards, and they stepped out into the tumultuous whirlwind of noise. "Whatever happens, Zev," the redhead smiled secretively, "do not let it surprise you."

The match began with a sudden spike in energy, and a nasty, twisting wave of air that swept dust upwards to the ceiling. Zevran didn't look, he was already throwing himself at the other rogue, already clashing daggers and blurring lines. He absently felt Darian at his back, a flickering white ghost amongst the browns of Orzammar. He didn't even let it touch him; with a deft flick he sent one of Olaniv's arms flying aside, leaving him wide open. The rouge did what Zevran expected; he drove his other arm, the left, forwards to stave the Antivan off.

Zevran slipped aside, just enough to let the dwarf's wrist to pass his ribs on the right side, and did what he was best at. He put on a show. He threw his right arm over Olaniv's head and around his lumpy neck; Zevran's left slipping under the dwar'f trapped arm to press against his breastplate. A leg swept out and -with a move that would have broken a taller man's neck- twisted the dwarf off the ground, around in a circle and slammed him bodily into the hard stone underfoot. Zevran stomped, hard, on the dwarf's solar plexus, just for good measure.

He threw his head around, and caught the breath-taking sight of Darian fighting his own opponent. The mage had somehow made himself ethereal, a sharp spectre that always seemed to be where Darvianak's blade wasn't. But it was obvious, even to him, at how much it was tiring the Warden. But it was quick work, if difficult, to down the other dwarf when he joined Surana in battle.

The proving fans were heard throughout Orzammar's commons, that day.

Xxx

Morrigan didn't know how Surana did it.

But he did.

Alistair was stood, face like stone, as one of the three team-mates in the final battle. Darian was next to him, on his right, and Leliana was on the Templar's left. Zevran was stood beside Darian, typical smirk in place. It was a four-versus-four bout to determine who was a better strategist and leader. She held back a snort. Play fighting in a stone pen for a crowd. It was like the pit fights one held to prove one mabari was better than another. She shook her head. She understood, in a sense, why Darian was fighting in the Provings. She didn't voice it, not until the mage had wandered off with the assassin during the last fight.

He was making the dwarves know that he wasn't going to bend over a desk for them. A rather crude thought, in retrospect, but she guessed it to be a Darian-esque thing. He had obviously taken both Harrowmont and Bhelen's arrogance to heart. This was just him translating his thoughts into dwarvish.

"I'm not a pet warden. I am not here to play lap dog and dirty my hands for you. I am here to raise an army. I am not here to be a referee to your ridiculous squabbles. I do not care who is king. Your traditions have no sway over me."

It was something she knew the mage was thinking, as strange as it was. It was probably lacking all the expletives, but alas. She hadn't the time for-

Zevran and Leliana were the first to move, mirroring each other's sudden lunge forwards into a simultaneous charge. It bled into a series of sharp twists that ended rather harshly with a boot sending two dwarves careering backwards. The duo leapt after them, leaving the pompous commanding dwarf and his archer subordinate stood dumbly in the middle of the arena.

There wasn't even any time to think, to process their shocked faces before Alistair was upon them, long-sword a hard line against the soft curves of his armour. The archer turned tail and ran, but it was a quick match. Darian had his staff, and Leliana's enchanting song was wafting up into the air, sending Team Warden into a proficient and deadly accurate path to victory.

Zevran finished his rogue, first.

There was a loud crack as one of Leliana's armoured boots nearly crushed the weaker-metal helmet of her own dwarven warrior.

Darian had simply set up a series of nasty repulsion glyphs, and within a few moments the archer was bent over his knees, throwing up all the moss-wine he drank before the match.

Alistair sent the last, the commander, flailing to the ground with a hard crack of his shield, a twist of his foot, and bringing the pommel of his sword down on the crown of the dwarf's head.

"FOR THE WARDENS!"

xxx

"I kept you out of that fight because I needed all of your strength for that last battle."

"What? But you-"

"I knew I would be tired by that last match, and I knew I needed a tank on side to draw the enemy's attention. I don't fully trust Sten yet, and well you've always come through in the end. I didn't do it to protect you; I did it because it made the most sense at the time."

"You…"

"Alistair, we are the last of the Fereldan Wardens as far as we know. We are all we've got. And being honest, I'm rather glad it's you I'm saving the world with."

"Ahh stop it. You'll make me blush."

xxx

He remembered the first time it happened.

The day he smelt trouble in paradise, was indeed, a strange one. But he always remembers it as the true beginning. When all the fronts and all the jokes and smiles fell away for a instant, and he saw what was under the hide of Surana, The Monster of Kinloch Hold.

They were due to finally meet Bhelen in the morning, which somehow made Darian want wine. And lots of it. They had left the inn and a fight nearly broke out between the small warden and one of Harrowmont's men. The dwarf had shouted something about 'whore elves that were of better use as target practice for a sword than actual fighting.' Darian had replied in kind, yelling 'you must be an expert with how good your mother is with swords. Did she pass that knowledge along with how to braid a beard like a nug-humping mushroom merchant?"

It escalated quickly after that little nugget.

They were quick to Tapsters, after that. But once again, all the crazy questions popped up. But in all honesty, Zevran was impressed that the kid was still alive. He was like a magnet for trouble. He simply offered a reward, a kind of gift for staying alive so long.

"Remind me to find you a nice whore when we leave this place. I'll pay, don't you worry. All the wonderful extra's the Pearl can offer. Except the 'Bad Boy Special.' That is one that I will not have you victimised by, dear friend."

There was a loud, drunken giggle from Alistair, twisting around from his seat to slap a hand onto Zevran's back. "See? I knew you kept this bastard around for a reason! That is supposed to be a terrible soup, you know. Lots of peppers. You might like setting things on fire, but I doubt you'll be able to handle the burning ring of fire, ha-ha!"

Zevran pointed to the human, "I have made another friend, it seems. But it would have been impossible for you to kill a pretty thing like me, no?"

The hard yell of Morrigan filtered through the air at that; "I fail to see how that has anything to do with the decision to keep you alive."

"Perhaps you do not know how to look then, dear lady." The assassin retorted, before motioning towards Alistair again, "Here, take our dear Alistair. Rugged good looks, quick wit, manly shoulders. Just getting him to hop borders is a challenge worthy of the great heroes."

"A challenge? I'd happily hop borders, given the chance. I've never even been close to leaving Ferelden!" The warden practically shook in his seat, smile wide.

Zevran would have missed it, had he not been looking at Darian throughout Alistair's drunken misunderstanding. It was a sudden drop in the shields, a flicker of light that slipped between the cracks.

The elf flushed like a beet, from the tips of his pointy ears to his throat. It was just a moment, where his eyes fell, his mug covered his face and like that everything was back in place. The flush was gone, and that measured smile was back. Alistair missed it all. But when Zevran glanced at Leliana, she was staring back at him with an expression he was sure he mirrored. Pure unadulterated curiosity.

It was probably the first time any of them saw past the 'Crazy Darian' or the 'Warden Surana' personas.

The two looked back to Darian, chattering away to Wynne about the wine in the Tower. It didn't faze either rogue; they were still planning, and still the cogs in their heads were twittering away. Leliana sent him another look, at which Zevran nodded.

He didn't know it at the time, but that was probably the moment he sealed his fate.

Hindsight was a strange teacher.

"My Darling Leliana! You owe me three sovereigns!"

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**AN: Really shouldn't have continued this. Yet. Really should be uploading It's Complicated. Ha-ha. I might have gotten distracted. This is a really long chapter. And even then I wanted it longer. It feels really fast paced though, simply because I skip a-lot. Well, this is supposed to be a Zev-Memory. It'll all become clear, if it isn't already. And I think it might be obvious, but I actually like most of the Dragon Age Origins companions. When they don't ask me stupid questions. Like "Why didn't you kill my mother" kind of questions. And don't forget the "Why in the world did you make me king you-" **

**Seriously. Even all the cute stupid Alistair dishes out and then all Morri's hard-ass comments and Leliana's whips couldn't really make up for all the irrational crap they drag your ass through in game. Even Zevran, the only one who you'd expect to be easy-going and fun. Even he gives you jip with the earring. "Yes, take the earring, no it doesn't mean anything. You want it to mean something? Omfgwhyareyoustifilingmewithallyourfeelsnoitdoesntmeananythingomfg. I'm taking the earring back. Dick.**

**Sometimes, I honestly just wanted Oghren to just jump up and tell me he was up for a party. That Felsi was totally fine with it.**

**Does the fact that I still rather like their characters make me a masochist? **

**Probably. **

**That's probably why I always end up romancing Fenris. Haa. Ah well. Hope you enjoyed. If you got down this far and read all of this AV, then you my little starling deserve a cookie. Hope you enjoyed! **


	3. U na emma abelas

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Rule Three: _**Never** _let him have Oghren's home made booze. _**Ever.**_

The first time they got a real inkling about how Darian could have shoved a Templar out a window in the Tower happened on the fourteenth day. The flicker of energy, the blindside, the headshot. The dwarf went flying backwards, his followers yelling in surprise and fumbling at trying to help the thrashing idiot up. Leliana was surprised they didn't attack straight after. It might have been Sten and Alistair standing behind the tiny elf that done it.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you are?"

The bard felt the telltale wash of magic, as well as seeing the flinch across Alistair's face. She knew better than to look at the smaller Warden. She noticed a similar occurrence around mages; sometimes a little magic leaked out. When Wynne was irritated, the air crackled. When Morrigan was in a rage, a few clouds might gather overhead. Whenever Darian got angry, heat would roll out in waves. It was always different depending on the mage, the emotion, and how strong they were. She had to admit, Morrigan had to be the scariest when it came to such things.

Especially with the whole spider thing.

"Please don't…. You don't know what these people are like!"

The shops keep murmured, purpled eyes downcast. Leliana felt her typically ironclad restraint thin a little. It would be easy –and entertaining- to gut each of the mercenaries. Might even set them up in ridiculous poses and hang them from one of the known-bone-token doors. She guessed from the errant flame licking along Surana's shoulder that he was thinking along the same lines. The elf patted the flame out with a hand and growled. "Get out. Before I hurt you."

A few laughs rang out from the dwarven mercenaries.

The leader slid into an easy slouch, hands tucked into his armpits. "Coming from an outsider, that is hilarious. Everyone knows you milk-drinkers couldn't fight yourselves out of a nugs ass. It's why they send people like you here; to find real fighters. But I'll be generous. Ten sovereigns and we will gladly protect you, Warden."

"How generous."

"I am a kind man, Warden."

"I suggest a counter proposal."

"Oh?"

"Leave now, or I turn you inside out."

The dwarf laughed, "We both know that dwarves are practically impervious to magic. You couldn't even if you tried."

Leliana suppressed the shudder when Surana's voice dropped an octave and nearly purred; "Want to be the first? I have always loved a challenge."

She guessed the tactical crazy-smile the Warden adopted as a kind of scare-tactic was at play when the dwarf paled and shook his head. "Let's not be hasty. We are just-"

"Leaving. Quickly."

"Yes. Yes, ser."

The sudden throng of bodies swept past, leaving them alone with the shaken and beaten shop keeper, face ashen and eyes twitching in his face. "Serrah, just take whatever you-" the dwarf's sentence broke when the elf crouched at his side and started healing his face.

xxx

Wynne wasn't a saint; it was something that she understood about herself very well. She was a regular, Maker-Fearing woman. But upon walking into Dust Town with Darian, she seriously considered pulling Compassion back from the Fade and driving this abysmal façade of a kingdom out of the dark ages. There was barely a wall between the swept, relatively clean halls of Orzammar's Commons and the slums that hunkered down beside it. Barely three steps beyond that invisible line and she wanted to give up all of her teaching titles back at the tower and become a live-in healer to the dusters. She didn't know how Darian could keep coming back to this place; it was obvious he had been sneaking away the last few days, but not to where. Zevran and Leliana had a bet on about something called Noble Hunters, but Wynne was always a little sceptical.

Well, now they knew.

When dusters ran at them, smiling and waving their arms. The elf got hugs, claps on the back, his hands shaken and kissed. And then they set up a ramshackle line in front of him. Wynne helped as much as she could, as did Morrigan; albeit in very different spirits. But when the mage grabbed Zevran and Alistair by the arm, left Sten behind to guard the women, she didn't know what to say. The tight eyes, the small downward tug in his smile, the twitching hands. She knew that Darian was fretting about hunting down Jarvia for the prince, but she as at a loss. They all knew that Bhelen wanted the current carta dead and buried so he could build up a new one under his own banner. They all knew that the carta was actually just a bunch of dusters trying to survive their own personal brand of the Blight; without Darkspawn but with Nobles instead.

What could you say to that?

Still. They had bigger problems. She would probably hear all about it when they got back.

She watched as Gregoir trotted happily after his master, oblivious to the growing storm cloud around them all. Well, except Sten and Morrigan. The two of them just frowned and carried on with their tasks, a golden rope around the witch's neck and a small pastry in the qunari's gauntleted paw.

The old woman sighed.

She just hoped they came back alive.

xxx

Alistair hated seeing Surana. Whenever he came out, there was always bloodshed, and no mercy. There wasn't a Darian left when the shutters came down and the battlemage stepped forwards. There was an obvious difference that all of team warden had picked up on. Darian would laugh, smile, dance as he fought. He would be fair, and if he could, end a battle in the most fair and violence-free method available. But Surana? It was like watching a demon at work when Surana went out to end a dispute. It was obvious that Surana was leading them then, in the hard set of his shoulders, the sharp tongue, and the way he set up infernos to blast away enemies without the others having to move. Alistair himself had barely lifted a finger by the time they cornered Jarvia like a rat. Zevran seemed on edge just as much as he himself was; eyes darting from warden to warden, asking silently. Alistair had no answers.

There was a reason he made Darian lead.

But it wasn't this.

Xxx

"What will you do for Orzammar?"

Bhelen was stood behind his desk –altar, Zevran's mind readily supplied- and gently massaged his beard. The dwarf held himself like a Crow. Smoke and mirrors. It was only his words that really made the illusion grow wings and fly. "I am exhuming it. We have buried ourselves in tradition for too long now. We need to take a step into the light. The casteless will bear arms like the warrior caste and fight. In exchange for better living spaces, rights and other privileges, of course. They will become like commoners are on the surface; we will give them a ladder to climb instead of a shovel to dig their own graves."

"The nobles will hate you, you know."

"I am not here to pander to dusty old statues, warden. I'm here to keep my kingdom from becoming like the other thaigs."

"Everyone will be against you."

"That hasn't stopped you."

Darian actually laughed, "What? Because I'm an elf?"

"You're kind are treated like our casteless. And yet here you are, bringing up an army for the very lands that brand your kind as less than dogs."

"Funny old world, isn't it?"

"You don't care I might have gotten most of my family killed off for this chance?"

"I wouldn't care if you drowned half your house at a chance at being king. By the sounds of things, Trian would have sunk Orzammar the same way Harrowmont would have. We both know that it's the dwarves pride that damned them in the past, and that the old traditions nearly cost your race everything. If your people do not change, you will die. Opening up your trading sectors to the surface world, turning the casteless into citizens and potentially encouraging cross-caste relations, and then making the new and reformed carta into a strong arm for your militia; all of those things are a step in the right direction. You might be pushing the assembly into things that make their beards rot, but it's for the right reasons. I especially like the casteless becoming citizens. Even if I think your motives behind that one are a bit… cheeky."

"Cheeky… Warden?"

"If there are no casteless, you can marry your concubine with less of a riot, no?"

"Well. You aren't the cloth-eared fool I had you pegged for."

"People have died for thinking that way. Not in nice ways, either."

"Then I'm glad I figured that little nugget out early, warden. Anything else? Branka is waiting."

"When I return for my Calling, I expect there to be no casteless. If I find Dust Town the same way it is now, I will kill you before I go into the Deep Roads. I'm not giving you the crown so you can squander it with bollocks. I expect a real reform and a better future for the dwarves. You know you guys are the only things keeping the darkspawn at bay. We'll need you for later blights, you know."

"The same way we need wardens, Surana. I suggest you stop causing fights in the commons. Us Dwarva gossip like old women. Everyone will know you're a firecracker by the time you hit Tapsters when you punch a noble in the Diamond Quarter."

"That only happened once. And he deserved it."

"Goodday Warden," The prince shook his head, turning back to his desk.

It wasn't until they had returned to the inn that Zevran asked. "Concubine?"

Darian half-laughed before shrugging. "Bhelen has a noble-hunter called Rica. It's said that she is his one and only hunter, and he even has her stay in the palace with him! Considering other nobles keep like twenty and eventually either marry one or discard them all, well. It's even funnier that she is a casteless woman. I had Leli do some recon on both Harrowmont and Bhelen, and she came up with all sorts of fun things. I've got the impression that if this Anvil is real, that Harrowmont will basically enslave the casteless to make Golems. But Bhelen will let them earn their citizenry. Most of them are good people; just in a bad place. He'll set them up with proper equipment and let them become productive members of Orzammar's society. Considering the fact that dwarves are nearly infertile as it is, I'm shocked that it's taken this long for someone to do something about it. Cutting off an entire group of people because of tradition when faced with something like that is stupid. They kind of helped with the idea of noble hunters, but five or six women aren't enough, and when they have daughters instead of sons they get discarded. Or killed. Depending on the circumstance."

"You did research before we even got here."

"I wanted to know what kind of lava pool we were diving into."

"Is that why you have been attacking like a blinkered horse?"

"Yes and no. I have lots of issues with politics, you know that. But when I read about Kal-Sharok I kind of blew up a little. Apparently the thaig destroyed a lesser thaig when it discovered they were hiding elves after the fall of Arlathan. It would have shaken the long-term friendship the dwarves had with Tevinter, so Kal-Sharok raised the place to the ground and rebuilt on-top of it. The Shaperate is still in a deadlock about whether to put this act into the Memories, since it's so shitty. A people who destroy history to make themselves feel better are not okay in my book. It's the same way I get pissed off whenever I hear parts of the chant."

"I suppose having to hear the lullabies of the people keeping you in the Tower are hard to swallow."

"No, you get used to that. But The Chantry destroying Shartan's legacy is. Did you know that talking about Shartan as a hero is considered heresy in some places? After the Exalted March on the Dales, the part in the Chant were Shartan was praised a hero was taken out. In Orlais, most all of the monuments depicting him have been destroyed. There's only one that wasn't had his ears taken off. The only one they didn't doctor is in their university."

"But Shartan was-"

"I know. It's messed up. It's the same way they paint Andraste as a soft-spoken waif who picked flowers and ate cakes. In reality, she was probably Aligan."

"What?"

"What would happen if Morrigan and Alistair had a baby. Morrigan's ass-kickery and Alistair's strength. A barbarian warrioress!"

"Never. Ever. Tell them that."

"I value my life."

Zevran had to laugh.

He didn't like how easy it was, but it is what it is. The fake smiles and pretend laughs were long gone. He actually was finding the group fun. They were not Crows. There was no backstab ready, no poisonous blades in his bedroll, no syphilitic whore ready to take him out. It wasn't complicated like the Crows. Zevran was still waiting for the shoe to drop, but it didn't. It should have unnerved him. Five months and already he was crumbling. Still the blade in the dark, but he was happier to see the sunshine than he was. Rinna was barely cold in the ground, and here he was, laughing without a care.

He felt the eyes on him, but the shrug and attempt at humour skated against the walls. Darian was having none of it.

"If there's something wrong, you can talk to me about it. Or Wynne."

"We are storming the thaigs tomorrow looking for a dead paragon, Darian. I can wait for the therapy."

The other elf laughed, sharp and clear, "Whatever you will. But if I hear about a tear-streaked bosom and a lightning-charred elf when we go tunnel trawling, I won't be impressed."

"She wouldn't-"

"If you grope her like you keep saying you will she would."

"Ah once again my words bite me in the ass."

"Yup. If you just politely told her you didn't want to talk, you wouldn't be on her shit-list. Nor Leliana's for that matter."

"And yet somehow I'm not on yours, and yet I tried to kill you. Strange world, Warden."

"Yes well. We both know you're shit at a lot of things."

"You wound me."

"And you're a prig for trying it on with a woman her age."

"Which is it that you find repellent? Her age or her gender?"

Darian's mouth snapped shut. A ridiculous, fuckwit of an expression crossed his face and a blush that nearly rivalled the red-ness of his hair emerged. The awkward cough, sigh and scratching at his neck made the golden elf's eyes hone in, and for the life of him, Zevran nearly laughed in glee. "You seem to have an incorrigible interest in things that interest me, Dari." He couldn't help it. He leant in, all smiles and teeth. "Something that you wish to share with the class? Yes?"

The body shudder and growl almost had him off his chair.

"You are a fucking fuck."

He laughed so hard that he actually did fall off his chair.

It was the right move, because the other elf loosened out of the tight little crate he had straightened into, and they joked and told more ridiculous stories. And a crate the kid was, when he thought about it. Zevran had been a good foot away, but the red-head had tightened all over, shoulders crunching, hands wringing themselves into shaky claws, legs tucking in. He would have thought more about it, but he had seen it enough times that he brushed the worry off. Darian wasn't one of the poor dregs that hid in the dark. He was just a crazy man-child that hadn't been flirted with properly yet. A dwarf who hadn't whet his whistle, so to speak.

Zevran shouldn't have found it so fun to poke the mage, but he did.

And that he found such joy in the harmless poking spoke volumes didn't it?

xxx

"I want to come with you."

"Well that's nice. Who are you?"

"Ogren. Branka's husband. And if you think you can find-"

"Well then let's go!"

"What?"

"You're probably the only one that knew her personally right? I'm kind of sick of rich dwarf fuckers asking me to rescue her so she can crown them. It's nice that someone who actually cares about the woman behind the paragon. Oghren, right? Well hey as long as you are as good at kicking ass."

None of them knew it at the time, but it was the beginning of a long and ridiculous friendship.

xxx

Zevran wasn't often pressed to consider what the fuck he was doing with his life, not really. After Rinna and that shit with their Master, well. He had done a lot of considering, and ended up taking a suicide mission out of whatever clusterfuck emotion took him first. He still didn't know really what the hell his problem was; whether he loved her or-

H still felt raw about it, so he pushed it away. Feelings were not his area of expertise. But then again, neither was looking at his life and not thinking '_Well Maker's flaming tits_.' He had decided he needed new priorities when they get into the Deep Roads proper. These thoughts popped up a little after seeing the creeper Ruck in his cave and what started as a trickle became a river after the mess with Hespith. Darian had calmed the first, ghoulish little thing somehow. Talked about shinies and whatever else. Zevran didn't like the sad, gaping feeling he had when he looked at Ruck. Whatever it was, it wasn't much more than a farce of the dwarf he had been. He wasn't surprised when Oghren backed him up when he suggested they kill him. Mercy.

Darian's shoulders hardened at that. Zevran could tell the kid was seeing himself in the thing, but Zevran himself honestly couldn't. Every once in a while, Alistair and the mage would have a fight about a Calling, and the Antivan made sure he was scarce whenever it happened. He got the feeling he would see them both, hunkered like this at the end, when the Call took them. He didn't want to see that. But he didn't want to see them go out in blazes of glory, either. They weren't heroes. They were Darian and Alistair. The Crazy Elf and the Disaster Master. They were failed, burnt dinner in the evening. A crackle of lightning and a hard, towering wall.

They weren't meant to die like th-

Shut up. Zevran clamped down on the ridiculous things he was thinking, ignoring the sad little squishing of Darian walking along behind them. His boots had gotten wet, finding the only puddle in the damn place. It was kind of a lovely occurrence, though, finding the only fresh water puddle when the rest of them were shaking whatever pus and filth were in the sacs leading up to the Broodmother. At that, Zevran nearly washed his hands of Wardens, Blights and whatever the fuck else was rutting down there in the dark.

He would have turned.

He should have.

But he didn't.

He really wanted to. But when that stupid ass mage stepped into whatever meaty slush the thing had gathered up around itself, well. He would have been a coward to let a little mage who probably had never been kissed walk head-first into a fist fight without him. And when the flames died down, and the darkspawn stopped coming, and Alistair had stopped the scary Whirlwind-Of-Lightning-Blade-And-Skull-Crushing-Shield, he almost felt okay.

Because it couldn't get worse.

Until it did.

When Oghren's wife turned out to be an insane _putana_ with the-

He couldn't even go through with the thought. He just patted the dwarf's shoulder, made a half-assed pass at Alistair, and stepped straight up to Darian to hug the crazy little shit. He knew it was partly to stop the raining firestorm of shit, and partly because the kid was pulling a nasty face. He agreed with Alistair on very few things, but the terrifying stone-hard walls of Surana were definitely one of them. Only Sten could bring the elf out of a full blood-rage, by of all things, asking him if _opening a bakery would be against the Qun_. The sharp laugh would ring out, and the mists of '**set everything on fire'** left the elf's eyes, and things became less bloody and more rainbows.

It was apparent that the Qunari was probably only saying such things because he knew from experience what that kind of rage could do, or maybe he had a sick sense of humour. Maybe he was training Darian up like a mabari so he could eventually take direct control of all of Thedas with his horde of crazy mages, Butterfly Sword at his side. He knew he was actually talking out loud when Darian huffed against his shoulder, a helpless giggle bubbled out of his mouth and the sobbing stopped.

They gathered up their wits, forged on, and eventually walked away with a crown fit for a smarmy little king in charge of a lot of-

Zevran had to stop himself, because he knew that he would carry on until he lost all the breath in his lungs. There were not enough expletives in any language that covered how angry he was that they had to delve so far for such things. Political bullshit. This was Orzammar not Antiva. He let out a guffaw, and shooed away the surprised and wary glances that were sent his way. If this was an Antivan thing and not a dwarf one, they might have ended it in a day rather than a whole _stupid-ass month_ in the subterranean gloom. Fuck, he would have ended it for Darian in a few days, maybe a week. He would have wandered in, told them how it was, made the mage do his best crackle-bug impression and they would have left. He would have directed any and all assassinations aside, and they would be on their way to whatever bump in the road was next on their journey to the Archdemon.

He might have been oversimplifying things, but he didn't care.

He was tired. So when they came out on the other side, covered in _Maker_-Knows-What-**Shit**-Is-On-My-_Beautiful_-Boots, Zevran was more than a little catty. He was a lot catty. He nearly drove his daggers through Morrigan's head, he was so wound up. He didn't want to examine exactly why, so he simply left his daggers in the wall and stormed away, ignoring the placating drivel the Warden was feeding the Witch to keep her from skinning him.

He didn't even know what she did to make him snap.

He just tore his armour off the best he could, kicked his boots off, threw all forty-six pointy objects he had strapped to his body to the wooden planks under his feet and threw himself into the nearest bathtub. It wasn't until later when a quiet set of hands started working on the _matted-_**filthy**_-_hempen_-__**monstrosity**_ that his hair had become that he felt the tightness flake away. He hadn't noticed the tepid water heat up, start to ease into his tired bones and push out all the twisted little fists his muscles had made. The hands worked, and nobody asked any questions. Just pressed, folded, scrubbed until he was cleaner, his hair became hair again, and he could feel his own skin instead of caked guts.

He sighed, and when the gentle waves of hot air rolled around his head, he didn't really know what to expect. But when he felt the hands braiding his dried hair, well. He couldn't complain. He didn't ask. He just pulled himself up and out, hand clasping the towel held out for him. He wrapped it around himself, and didn't look at Darian looking at him.

There were no questions, and he couldn't even voice how grateful he was for that. There wasn't any barbs about vanity, even though there could have been. He should be acting like an assassin. A bright little mask; one amongst many. Ready to discard any and all of them at a moments notice.

The way the elf was looking at him made all of them useless. When those sharp little daggers settled on him, he knew there wasn't any point in hiding or running. That little freak could see straight into him; it was the only reason why he was kept alive. Zevran didn't know what Darian had seen, and maybe he didn't want to.

But there was always that strange little piece of him that did.

xxx

It was weird, after that.

They looked at him differently. He wasn't treated like an outsider anymore. He guessed it was because he snapped in Orzammar. Morrigan had snapped during their time at the Dalish Camp, and Darian had fixed it. She was less acidic after that, but only to him. Sten had snapped a little after that, and the mage had fixed that too. A blade called Asala was apparently his bargaining chip during that little incursion. He got a new nickname out of it, and the Qunari was more accommodating to things now. Leliana was too much of a insane, bubbly whirlwind for anyone to know if she had snapped or not. Zevran had simply suggested she had snapped and that was why she could say she believed in the Maker without laughing. It was probably only Wynne and Alistair that hadn't snapped, and now Oghren too.

What a development that was.

The first and only night it happened was a terrifying one. The elf had bunkered down with the warrior, asking for stories and about berserkers and about all manner of things. For some reason, the dwarf wasn't as burly with Darian as he was with the rest of them. He became a round, mad uncle at a dinner table during Saturnalia. With the others, he was the wine-soaked dwarf that could hack of the head of a Hurlock with a swing of his axe. But it wasn't until their third week with Oghren that it happened, and the scary implications it had almost snapped Alistair.

They were headed towards Redcliffe, stopping off at the Spoiled Princess as they took the long way around Calenhad. Apparently it was to get the dwarf laid. The Templar had looked plenty scared when the crazy elf had simply put his hands in the air and said, "My buddy the dwarf needs to roll some oats. So I'm gonna help. Naturally."

Zevran and Leliana had a bet on about whether the elf knew what the dwarf was getting at, and if it paid off then Zevran would be three sovereigns richer by nights end. As it turned out Leliana won the bet. From the cleverly laid plan the little bastard set out, it was a wonder why Felsi hadn't thrown herself at Oghren's feet. Darian had played the cards so well that even the half-bombed Oghren looked like a prize. Bewildered and confused, both rogues and Alistair tripped and stumbled after the red-headed duo. A fist bump, a cheeky few laughs and that was thought to be the end of it. Until they got to camp, and the dwarf had given Darian some of the wretched booze he kept on him.

Zevran hadn't thought he needed to paint the word 'no' on dangerous things, but apparently Wynne had come by the same problem. They brooded together while Leliana and Alistair tried to goad the plastered elf down from the tree. Morrigan suggested that they set things on fire, but that was shot down. Sten had offered to uproot the tree, and nobody really knew if he was joking. Oghren had passed out and left them with a crazy drunk. The bastard.

It wasn't until Wynne started to make supper that things got bad. Darian had found pine cones. Zevran was just happy that he hadn't gotten hit yet. Alistair was warding off the various projectiles, cursing at the cackling elf hunkered on one of the higher branches. "Wynne, for the love of the Maker, please stop him!"

And being honest, they all thought she would. Wynne was trustworthy, gallant, and always came to the rescue. It was a general rule. That is, until Wynne did the unthinkable and betrayed him. She threw a cake to him. It was still soft, just hardening at its edges. A little gentle icing around the top, just enough to be edible. He caught it before he thought it through.

Zevran actually applauded when Alistair held firm, only faltering a little when Darian landed on his back, all legs and arms. He locked his knees, feet dangling over the Templar's shoulders, chest pressing against the back of Alistair's head, making grabby hands at the cake. He even had the presence of mind to ask politely. The quiet munching, the almost lost-child look to the smaller Warden's features, and the claims that Alistair was a God of Cake made the entirety of Team Warden ban all booze from ever being allowed near Darian Surana again.

It was probably one of the only things they ever agreed completely on.

xxx

AN: Well. I have finally come out of hiding to post this. Well. This. Haha. It always makes me laugh when Oghren decides he likes you and lets you try his grog. If they put him as a LI, I think that would have been his turning point. Like you know in DA2 and Fenris corners you in the mansion, and depending on what you do things either go bad or great? Well. Yeah. I think that they should have done similar with Oghren. He was like a bro. I can just imagine all the shit him and a low-tolerance mageling would get up to. I think that Oghren's booze would probably make Dari hyper, though. It sure as hell makes Oghren cheerful. Beer and Ale is just regular stuff and probably works the same on everyone. But Oghren's secret stash? Well that's gonna be legendary!

Happy Reading!

~Frog


End file.
